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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753394">Heaven Sent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaRose7733/pseuds/LunaRose7733'>LunaRose7733</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cunnilingus, Depression, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Masturbation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Varric Tethras, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Spoilers, Vaginal Sex, Werewolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,913</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaRose7733/pseuds/LunaRose7733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on a modern girl getting tossed into Thedas. Will what she knows lead them to victory? Or will she change the course of destiny and doom them all? Will she find the friends she's always wanted, the love she's always needed? And what will happen when her past becomes known?</p><p>Will contain spoilers and triggers.</p><p>Main pairing: Varric/OC<br/>Minor pairings: Cullen/Lavellan, Dorian/Bull, Josephine/Blackwall (mentioned)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Varric Tethras/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Questions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING COPYRIGHTED. The only thing I own in this is the Original Character: Charlotte. any lyrics or poetry used to enhance this fic, will be properly credited to the author that wrote it or the company it belongs to. Happy reading</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything fucking hurt. Equally. The cold I could feel seemed to sharpen every bone-deep ache pulsing through me. Every single nerve was howling in protest. It took all the strength I had to resist actually howling, to keep it contained in my head. With how my throat throbbed angrily, along with everything else, the sound would only shred it further. The whimpers I couldn't quite help from eking out weren't doing much to dissuade that idea either. It'd been quite awhile since I'd had to cope with pain this intense. It's only understandable that the mask of fortitude I'd once had to keep the agony from showing was sorely lacking. Understandable, but not acceptable. </p><p>The noise I was making must've drawn the attention of a few good Samaritans, as I could hear the murmur of voices and crunching footsteps. The pain I was in drained me so that I was barely conscious, so I couldn't quite make out the words they used, but their voices were familiar...so achingly familiar. But it felt like if I were to make the attempt to string any coherent thought together, my skull would split open. </p><p>Suddenly, a scent teased my nostrils, merely a whisper on a freezing wind, but that was all it needed to ingrain itself in my mind. Well-worn leather, old books, and sandalwood. Absolutely intoxicating, it smelled like heaven. Like home.</p><p>The nearly overwhelming urge to wallow in that scent, to cover myself so completely in it I couldn't remember my own, clouded my mind enough that I made the mistake of moving my head to follow it. One of the biggest I could make, it felt like. Ah well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, right?  </p><p>At that point, the keening wail that fell out of me, was the crack in the wall holding the actual howling back. Said wall proceeded to collapse like a house of cards, and I couldn't seem to cope with the pain any longer.</p><p>Beneath the disgraceful racket I was making, I could hear those voices grow closer, louder...and now they were frantic. Great, just what I needed, more noise to add to my aching head. I swear if they start screaming like frightened ninnies, I'll phase just to rip their irritating little throats out. Maybe that'd grant some peace and quiet. ..okay maybe I'm being a bit harsh but I'm the one who apparently got run over by a goddamn street cleaner, so I can be as fucking irrational as I want! </p><p>Then that glorious scent became stronger too… if it's one of the voices I'll forgive it. As I came around more, I could hear the voices all around me. They sounded confused, shocked even. And even more important, I could pinpoint which voice made that scent. As well as the scents of the other voices. There was a strong voice, the farthest from me. It was female, stern, commanding; and smelled like what I imagined molten amber would, lightened by the faintest hint of vanilla. It was very pleasant actually. The second farthest was crisper, a mix of pine and sage with an over tone of icy mint, and by his voice was definitely a male. His voice was soothing, in a way that might lull one to sleep. Confidant, cajoling, but intelligent and experienced. </p><p>That left the two scents closest to me. One was sweet and floral, lavender and honeysuckle. As natural as a field of wildflowers, and just as peaceful. Her voice was the same: calm, peaceful, and sweetly feminine. The other was the one I wanted though, masculine and soothing, but not as the other man. This one was a voice that captured your attention, enthralling and thrilling, a smooth baritone rumble wrapped in a roughness that sent a more pleasant type of shiver down my aching spine. Like honeyed whiskey and crushed velvet covered in sifting sand and pure delicious sin.  </p><p>He sounded like every dream I'd ever had of safety and peace was found in every word that fell from his lips. </p><p>As I continued to come around I noticed more than just the pain screeching across my nerves. What I could register as cold was now being warmed away by a shining light behind my eyes. And with the cold, the pain was starting to follow, which made it easier to stop howling and screaming. Then a large, warm, and gentle hand covered in what I thought was a rather buttery leather, was cupping my jaw and moving my head so my neck was straight, probably to brace it against any damage. My neck and head did not agree with him. </p><p>I let out one last groan, as the last of the pain was smoothed away, leaving a crippling exhaustion that made any thought of opening my eyes rather difficult. But it didn't hinder my hearing, and with no pain, I could finally understand the words that beautiful voice was saying.</p><p>“Okay, normally when I make women groan like that, it's for less painful reasons.”</p><p>Exhaustion forgotten, I opened my eyes in shock, finally able to put a name to that voice; and now a face too apparently. An exceedingly handsome face at that. An exceedingly handsome face that I shouldn't be able to see in the fucking flesh!</p><p>It was dark, that much I could tell, and there was snow on the ground. There were two full moons above us, not that I needed the light to see. My condition ensured my night vision was excellent. His copper-gold hair, darkened to a brownish red beneath the night sky, gleamed in the moonlight, pulled half up-half down in his signature style. The games didn't do the texture justice, it looked soft and lustrous, well cared for. His jaw looked to be carved from stone (ha, cause dwarf), coated in a meticulously even length of stubble. The part of me not shitting itself at the impossibility of this man being physically in front of me couldn't help but wonder what that stubble would feel like, especially with those perfectly kissable lips in the middle of all of it. From my peripherals I could see his brown and gray leather coat, as well as the crimson red tunic. The center of that vision of masculinity was a bared portion of his chest, toned pectoral muscles covered with lightly tanned skin and coated with his famed pelt of chest hair, just slightly darker than the hair on his head. Okay I admit, I'm ogling, but Isabela was so damn right about no woman being able to resist him. He's handsome, he knows it, and he flaunts it.  It fit his character perfectly after all, 'if you can't be flawless –and no one can– be flashy.' He would need to maintain his finely crafted image of the finest bullshitter this side of Thedas. </p><p>“My eyes are up here, Gorgeous, though I don't blame you for getting lost.” His laugh was fucking sinful. If I weren't sure I'd die from never hearing it again, I'd insist it be made illegal. Then again he'd probably corner the black market demographic of lonely women in Thedas and make a killing. If there was such a thing. </p><p>Blushing all the way, I bring my eyes up to his...and my world changed. </p><p>As bourbon brown eyes, darkened to a shade of brandy in the dark, seared their mark onto my very soul, I felt a warmth in my chest building like a wildfire. And I felt it. Finally felt it; the sense of belonging I'd heard about from other Weres, a feeling of home and safety I hadn't had since before The Labs. The sudden jolt of connection that zapped through me like lightening, as if a piece that had always been severed was finally reconnected again. I found him! My bond, my imprint. My Mate!<br/>
I couldn't help but smile, overjoyed, feeling tears trickle down my face from the emotion. Varric Tethras was my Mate and I'd found him!  </p><p>Then I remembered Varric Tethras still carried a massive goddamn torch for Bianca. He was still in love with someone else. </p><p>Just like that, all the joy and peace that had started to settle into my bones was ripped out of me, leaving a hollow ache inside me. A tsunami of grief threatened to drag me into The Mourning, before I remembered something important. They weren't allowed within the same continent as each other. There communications were limited to letters, and only occasional meet-ups, otherwise Carta assassins would be on him like stink on shit. She wasn't able to leave her scent on him regularly, wasn't able to claim him regularly. Hell she was married to someone else for Christ's sake. And he just called me Gorgeous. I wasn't Rejected yet. </p><p>Still, the ache of Pining, was maddening; like a hand settled around my heart, waiting to crush it. I would wait though. I could be patient. I've waited this long, he was worth it. He always was and would be. </p><p>Unable to contain the howl burning to leave my chest, I let it out. Long, low, and wanting. Waiting. Pining. For him. I could see the shock and sharp spike of fear in his face as it blanched, smell it in how his now essential scent soured with lemons. Even then, it only made him more intoxicating, though my Mate shouldn't fear me. I couldn't hurt him, even if I wanted to.</p><p>I had to soothe it, even though I could feel exhaustion reasserting itself.</p><p>“Don't be afraid. I'd never hurt you.” I couldn't help the weak smirk tugging at my lips, “It'd be a crime to deny this world your stories, Varric. Or your chest hair.”</p><p>His bark of laughter was the last thing I heard as I passed out.</p><p>/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////</p><p> </p><p>Varric POV</p><p>“The Templars went to war to force mages back into their circles, which the mages would never agree to. What solution could Divine Justinia have offered when all sides rejected compromise?”</p><p>Some things never change. Brings back memories. I'm still getting used to the elf being on this side of the argument and not being Dalish. Then again Daisy never had much to contribute on the Circle side of things. Being in the middle of these arguments was never very entertaining though. At least, not after the first ten times. There's only so much you can talk about on the 'mages versus Templars' topic before you're just beating a dead horse, with roughly the same outcome: all that effort and no one getting anywhere. One thing was clear to me though.</p><p>I was getting way too old for this shit.</p><p>“Look Chuckles, Seeker, we've been hoofing it all day, we're just a mile away from what could be considered civilization in the middle of Thedas' asscrack. Can we please shelve this debate for another day? You're making me homesick.”</p><p>Cassandra's groan of disgust and Solas' glare were almost worth tramping around the Hinterlands, fulfilling every sodding scavenger hunt we were given by what had to be every single refugee in the Crossroads. Now don't get me wrong, some of them were pretty legitimate concerns, the rogue mages and Templars in the area being chief among them...but finding an escaped druffalo? Finding a stolen ring? Trying to stop a mage and templar brother from killing themselves, only to have to kill them anyway? Personally, I just think Bubbles was scared to follow Mother Giselle's advice to confront the clerics crying out for her blood in Val Royaux. Put that way, I can't really blame her.</p><p>Speaking of Bubbles, she was trying very hard to hide her giggling. She wasn't succeeding. That in itself was worth the seemingly endless checklist she dragged us on. Well maybe dragged was a bit harsh. You just couldn't stay angry at this woman. With her wide eyed innocence of the world outside her clan and her gentle heart, she reminded me very much of Daisy. Maybe that's why I tried a little harder to make her laugh, though at least unlike Daisy, she picked up the jokes a lot quicker. I've seen what happens to heroes. They lose a part of themselves in their story, sometimes more than one depending on the story. She's a good kid, and something clenches inside me when I imagine how she'll be by the end of this. Hopefully that end will be sooner rather than later, and not as costly. Though I wouldn't really bet on it. </p><p>Suddenly, there was a sharp, keening coming from within the tree line on our right. We all snapped to attention, weapons at the ready. “Something tells me that's not a baby druffalo. You sense anything Chuckles?” </p><p>The elf shook his head, frowning in curious concentration. “I sense a tear in the Veil, only not like the other rifts we've encountered. This one feels...different though I cannot ascertain how from this far away. Perhaps we should investigate?”</p><p>The women nodded their agreement, while I just readied Bianca as we moved slowly deeper into the trees. </p><p>After awhile, we came close enough to see a red glow, not like red lyrium, thank Andraste's sacred knickers, the last thing the Inquisition needed was that shit this close to Haven. No this was a deeper red, and it didn't really sing. More a pleasant, nonverbal humming, just audible beneath the screams. “Please tell me you all are hearing that too?”</p><p>Bubbles looked at me, all the softness of her features sharpening to a dagger's edge as she gripped her staff even tighter. That was a quirk Daisy didn't quite master until after Kirkwall went up in flames the first time: the battle-ready look of a leader preparing to deal out some major ass kicking. Come to think of it, it was a look Hawke wore very often, even as far back as their first fight together. “I hear it too. And to think I thought it might've been Cassandra trying to ease the tension with a song. Must be more wore out than I thought.” </p><p>Even Chuckles couldn't hold back a smile at that, although no one was quite relaxed enough to start laughing. Just as Cassandra was going to retort though, we finally stumbled on the source of the wailing...and consequently the humming as well.</p><p>The moment we came to a clearing, we saw a pulsing rift color of freshly spilt blood, throbbing in the air like a heartbeat. And below it was a tiny sprawled from, the howls coming from them almost drowning out the humming. Before the Herald could even think to close it with her mark however, the strange rift collapsed in on itself with a sputtering spark. Well at least there were no more sodding demons added to this fun-filled day. </p><p>Bubbles and Chuckles were the first ones at the person's side, due to their considerably longer legs, followed by the Seeker and I. As the Herald started what I can only assume is a healing spell, I finally made it next to her, reaching to try to straighten the body of what I now knew to be a woman.</p><p>'A rather gorgeous woman' I couldn't help but think as I looked down at her. </p><p>Though night had long since fallen, I could still see her features rather well due to the moonlight. Her skin was so fair, I almost couldn't tell it apart from the snow beneath her. Her long, dark brown tresses were splayed around her head, curling in the snow like ivy. Her full, voluptuous figure was clad in strange clothing; a long sleeved blouse made of a wispy, ocean blue fabric that clung to her heaving breasts sinfully, no doubt sopping wet from the snow. Chancing a glance further down, her trousers seemed similarly soaked, but they looked to be a heavier material and looked almost black in the shadow of the trees around us. How tight they seemed against her wide hips and thick thighs, was just a passive observation. My fingers certainly did not itch to touch and squeeze. And there was definitely no warmth curling in my gut at the gentle, soft looking rise of her lower stomach exposed by her shirt riding up. Or her belly button, which was definitely not cute. Or that she looked to only be taller than me by a few inches overall. Nope. I was not the sort of dwarf to drool over an injured woman. Just an author's keen eye for detail...</p><p>Shaking myself out of my not-ogling, my hand finally made contact with the woman's warm opposite cheek, straightening her head and neck as gently as I could, and her face was finally able to be seen. And damn, she was a sight.</p><p>She a small, button nose, with a gentle upturn, and even though it was scrunched up in pain, it was unbearably cute. I couldn't bring myself to deny that. Her face was sweetly heart-shaped, with a defined but delicate jawline, leading to a pointed chin. Her lips, still pale and parted with pain, were full and plush and had a faintly pink tint to them still, which made an idle thought of how they'd look blushed and kiss-bruised flash through my brain. Behind them were gleaming teeth, one of her incisors gently crooked, as if grew in slightly leaning away from its twin. Not enough to be a detraction, but enough to give an innocent charm to the rest of her face. Not that it was lacking that, with her high cheekbones above full cheeks, and prominent forehead. Though her eyes were squeezed tightly closed, I could see her eyelashes were long and thick, and above them eyebrows that were boldly arched, all of it sealing seamlessly into a cutely pretty face. </p><p>Maker's ass, alright yes she was beautiful, you'd have to be both blind and stupid to not see it. I obviously was neither. </p><p>Her groan of pain brought me back to the task at hand, not noticing when Solas and Cassandra moved closer to where the red rift had been, nor the conversation that had been taking place between them. When Bubbles looked at me, her face screwed up in concern and exertion as she poured more of her magic into healing what had to be internal damage since there wasn't any sign of blood on the ground...well I couldn't resist.</p><p>“Okay, normally when I make women groan like that, it's for less painful reasons.”</p><p>At my comment, the woman jolted as if shocked, and her eyes snapped open.</p><p>Her eyes were huge, luminous molten gold pools that seemed to glow in the dim light around us. They swept over me. She recognized me, which didn't make sense because I'd for damn sure remember eyes like that. As was inevitable, those eyes found themselves locked on my chest. Her eyes seemed to glow even more, her pupils widening and her luscious little mouth went slack. I can't deny I let her look, nor can I deny that I felt a surge of male pride stiffen my spine. I could feel the knowing smirk slowly spread over my face as I laughed. </p><p>“My eyes are up here, Gorgeous, though I don't blame you for getting lost.” Her eyes widened as her face took on a rosy hue. It had to be the cutest blush I'd ever seen that also stoked the fire slowly burning in my gut. I decided then and there I would see it as often as I could get away with. Then her eyes met mine, and the world fell away.</p><p>I didn't want to move. I was being sucked into a sea of gold and I felt myself wanting to drown. It wasn't rational, I know, Andraste's tits I didn't even know her name! But I wanted to. I wanted to know all I could, to know why I was feeling this way for a complete and total stranger. But most of all I wanted those eyes to keep looking at me. My hand was still on her face, and I could feel her relax at our continued stare off. And then she smiled. Sweet Maker her smile. Her whole face lit up, her eyes shining with what I could only assume were happy tears, her every pore exuding a radiant joy that made me smile back even through my shock. She looked like someone whose every dream just came true, the answer to every question dropped into her lap. And she was staring straight at me. </p><p>But after a moment, it vanished. Like she'd been slapped, the joy leaked from her face to be replaced with the most profound grief I'd ever seen, freezing her eyes from molten to solid. As if her heart had been crushed right in her chest. My thumb moved without my knowledge to wipe her tears away, or at least tried to, they kept coming even faster now. A low whine started from her, not unlike a kicked dog, building and building as the color receded from her face, leaving her almost translucent, paler than she was before. Then determination warmed her eyes once again, not like before but still liquid. A strength I'd only seen in a handful of others. The resolve to fight. </p><p>Suddenly, she let loose a howl that almost had me looking around for the wolf that made it, if I hadn't seen it come from her lips. Holy shit, it was spine-tingling! The only way I could think to describe it, was call waiting for an answer. A very lonely call. Besides the thought 'what the actual fuck?',  going through my brain, I was able to recognize a very sad longing echoing through that howl. It still startled the shit out of me, leaving out the fact it came from a person and not an animal.</p><p>She must've sensed something of my thoughts, because as I continued to look down at her, an earnest  expression took over her face. The golden glow faded from her eyes, leaving them a still pretty hazel. </p><p>“Don't be afraid. I'd never hurt you.” She pleaded with me in a sultry sweet voice. Maker every inch of her was soft and gentle and sweet. Except her piercing eyes; eyes maintaining that honesty as well as the sadness, even though her mouth turned into a smirk and her voice started to lose its strength. “It'd be a crime to deny this world your stories, Varric. Or your chest hair.”</p><p>I couldn't help the laugh that burst out of me, even as she fell limp in unconsciousness. How did she know my name? And why did I feel this aching need in me to hear it on her lips again?</p><p>“Varric? Varric!” </p><p>Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I looked up at the Herald, feeling dazed and very confused. And worried. Bubbles seemed to share my thoughts exactly, “Do you know this woman, Varric?”</p><p>“No. Not in the least. Though I plan on fixing that as soon as she wakes up.” I meant that to be a joke, but I couldn't manage enough levity in my voice for it. Cassandra apparently, didn't agree with my plan one bit.</p><p>“You want to take her to Haven?! How do we know she know she isn't a spy? Either from the Chantry or from whoever caused the Breach?” Her face looked as thunderous as her voice sounded. As wore out as I suddenly felt, I was not in the mood for pointless paranoia. If she did mean the Inquisition harm, even though she really did not seem the type so far, creepy howling aside, then Curly and Nightingale would be able to suss it out of her. Though sneaking into the cells beneath Haven's Chantry would not be ideal...Maker, what did this woman do to me?!</p><p>“I hardly believe that is necessary Cassandra. She was barely able to wake long enough to speak, let alone do anything nefarious. Besides, I sense no magic in her, and by the looks of her, has never trained to use a weapon. We should bring her to Haven, if only to monitor her recovery. She's still not fully healed yet.” </p><p>I looked at the exhausted elf across from me noting how she was leaning on her staff, even sitting. She used more than she should've and it still wasn't enough. “Damn, how much more healing does she need? What's wrong with her?”</p><p>Her wide, ice blue eyes were sad as she looked at me, and I felt a ball of cold dread thump somewhere around my stomach. “The damage is very old Varric. Years old, but it was never healed properly. There's something wrong with her blood as well. Not completely human. She isn't possessed, as I said there's not a drop of magic in her,” she said this with a pointed glare at Cassandra, making the warrior frown and look away. “But as it is...she's missing small bits of her organs. Her spleen, her liver, her kidneys...even parts of her intestines show heavy scar tissue. Like two pieces of ripped fabric torn further and then stitched together. Bits of muscle in her arms and legs are gone too, and from what I can tell...she should be taller than this Varric. Something or someone stunted her growth. But I couldn't for the life of me tell you what. Countless broken bones, some have even been shattered, all to heal improperly. Some of the joints were saved, like her wrists and ankles, but not all of them. I can't imagine what hell this poor woman has gone through.”</p><p>By the end of her assessment, Cassandra to say the least had nothing at all to say. Even Solas seemed quieter than usual. I on the other hand…</p><p>“Well that settles it. She's coming to Haven. Even if I have to carry her myself. I'll be damned if I'll leave her out here in the snow.” I just couldn't, not after hearing all that. Plus, I still had to find out how she knew my name…the need to hear it again not withstanding. </p><p>“Of course, Varric, I don't think that was in any doubt. The carrying as well I suspect, as I'm having trouble carrying myself at the moment.” As if she'd summoned him, Chuckles came to her side to help her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist. Even from the angle I had I could see her face turn as red as her hair. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer adorableness of the scene. I slid my hands underneath the unconscious siren, when my fingers brushed against something buried in the snow. As I lifted her up, I could see it was some type of knapsack, but made in a coarser fabric than what her clothes seemed to be made of. It was an olive green color and just as soaked as she was, with buttoned up pockets all over the front of it with straps that reminded me of Bianca's holster on my back, but twice as heavy.</p><p>“Hey Seeker! Mind getting the lady's luggage? I might be a bit meaty in the arms, but I'm no cart-mule.” At the mention of possible evidence, whether for or against her 'suspect' was unclear, Cassandra stormed towards us and yanked the pack out of my grip rather rudely I might add. She spent a good minute looking the thing over, before slinging it over her shoulder with a scoff of disgust. “We will settle this back at Haven, dwarf. And mind your hands, since you seem to be so taken with her.”</p><p>“Hey! I'll have you know I'm a perfect gentleman...in public.” Whether or not she meant it as a joke, I had to make it one…though I'm not sure the rest of me got the memo. Feeling her in my arms, the soft give of her thigh beneath the fabric there, her slim shoulders, feeling her breath against my neck where her head was slumped against...any red-blooded male would have thoughts. And holy hell, the sheer heat this woman gave off, it was almost feverish. Such a comfort at the base of the Frostbacks, it warmed me to the bone. </p><p>As we finished the trek back to Haven, I strung together the perfect script to convince the others to let me be the one to watch over her. I had paperwork to catch up on, correspondence with my editor, parsing through which Guild bullshit to ignore...plus if they kept her stuff locked up until she could talk to them, there was no way she'd pose any threat. I was gonna get my answers, one way or another. This was one ball of trouble I couldn't bring myself to walk away from. And it's been a good bit since anyone's intrigued me like this. Consider my interest officially peaked. I looked down at her sweet face, looking so innocent in sleep, and I thought to myself, 'Well...at least this bit of trouble's a treat to look at.'</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Interrogations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Charlotte wakes up. Varric asks questions, he gets answers and more questions. Leliana steps in and things start to build.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <b>As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong just as the terror gained a choke-hold on me. I couldn't be </b>
  </em>
  <span>
    <b>here, </b>
  </span>
  <b>
    <em>of all places...not after Dr. Meeker...no I'm sure he got me out of here...he promised he did he promised…</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <b>The bars of my cage seemed to close even further on me as the white-scrubbed orderlies wheeled me down a blindingly lit hallway, so weak on the cold metal floor I could hardly keep watch of where we went. But I knew where I was. Oh by God, did I know where I was…I could feel the panicked yips and squeals build in my chest, only to fall short behind my teeth. I prayed with every inch of me that this was only a nightmare.</b>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <b>They turned me into a room, the only light in it coming from an overhead lamp. Beneath it lay a table that had seen enough blood to drown someone. A table that sent sheer horror down my spine.</b>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em><b>Ah, just in time, pretty puppy. It's time for your next surgery.”</b></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I woke up screaming. Nearly bolted out of the bed I was in, if it hadn't been for the strong arms holding me and the scent of home enveloping me. Of leather and books and sweet sandalwood. My Mate. All at once the fleeting moments that I'd last been awake came back to me, and I collapsed in Varric's arms, hearing him trying to soothe me, his hands stroking my hair. Soon my gasping breaths turned to sobs, burying my face in his neck, whining and whimpering. My arms wrapped around his waist, holding myself to him, the only thing keeping me afloat. Even with the voice of reason in my head telling me he was off fucking limits, Reenan, <em>don't touch!...</em> I couldn't resist taking this little moment, starving for touch and affection that I was. Whether or not Varric was my Mate was a moot point in that respect...it'd been years since I'd been touched by anyone, let alone held so tenderly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shhh alright, sweetheart, it's alright, you're safe. I've got you. It was just a dream. And while dwarves don't dream, even we know once you wake up they can't touch you. Well unless they're the type of dream you <em>want</em> touching you, but something tells me this wasn't one of them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I could always count on him for a laugh. Savoring his scent and the feel of his arms around me for a few more moments, I pull away reluctantly to wipe at my eyes. “I'm sorry, I seem to have ruined your shirt, Varric, or is that dark splotch part of the pattern on it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Varric looked down at the patch in question, heaving a beleaguered sigh, “Well, shit. This one was one of my favorites. Gonna have to get this laundered.” He stood and moved to a chair next to his desk, spinning it to face me as he sat. “I'll accept your apology, Siren, if you'll answer some questions for me.” The smile never left his face, but his eyes were guarded. A wall of suspicion keeping his bourbon colored eyes tepid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Needless to say, I was apprehensive. I knew this would be coming but that didn't mean I planned on him jumping the gun this fast. I took a quick stock of what I could see in my peripherals: a wooden door on opposite wall and to my right, Bianca leaning against a desk with a few burning candles damn near down to nubs and scattered paper work on it with a feather quill in silent vigil perched in an inkwell, warm crimson blankets around my legs keeping out the chill, with an even darker red rug in front of the rather low bed I still sat on. I tried to play the tension I felt off with a smile, “What kind of questions? Are they naughty ones? Because if that's the case Master Tethras, I gotta say normally a man asks them before he gets a woman in his bed. Or is that after everyone's already naked – I can never remember.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His ever present smile became more genuine as he chuckled, “A man can ask them whenever he wants to, but a <em>gentleman</em> only asks a lady those sorts of questions if he knows the intent behind them is <em>reciprocated</em>.” I could feel a flush of warmth fill my face at the quick moment of heat that filled his eyes, the way his voice deepened for a brief moment. Then it was locked away again, smile still never leaving. “It appears you have me at a disadvantage, madam. Not only am I certain I've never seen you before, and I never forget a face, you seem to know my name without a proper introduction. Are you a fan of my books? You wouldn't be the first I've met in person.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I could tell he was probing. “Would it be better if I leveled the field a bit by telling you my name first? While I know you have quite a bit more questions ahead, it'll comfort me to know you at least know my mother didn't call me 'lying nug-licker'.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes grew sharper even as his voice grew warmer around his amusement, “Madam, this is simply a friendly conversation! What would we talk about that you would think I'd call you a nug-licker?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I smirked back at him briefly before I steeled myself. Time to quit pussy-footing. “But you don't protest the lying half of it. You can drop the act Varric. I know Leliana would only agree to have me in a cabin instead of a cell, if you were going to interrogate me. Probably with some of her scouts right outside the door. Plus Bianca's within reaching distance.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something shriveled inside my chest at the way his stare turned to ice as it pinned me where I sat. I hated that look. It reminded me of the doctors in the Lab, like I was a problem needing figuring out. Like I wasn't <em>human</em>. And my Mate was the one looking at me like that. I couldn't help the tears building in my eyes, and the simmer of frustration brewing in my heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I promise I'll answer your questions Varric. I swear everything I tell you is the absolute truth, I swear to God!” His eyes weren't icy anymore, but he was still guarded. The way tension lined his broad shoulders, how he never took his gaze from me even to blink. I refused to look away. I refused to back down to him yet, not when I wanted to help. Not when he was so dear to me and I had the chance to at least be his friend in the flesh, if not his lover. It would have to be enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright. Before we get to the meat and potatoes of if, it does seem only fair if I ask your name first.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Charlotte. My name is Charlotte Reenan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His expression softened into something I imagine he wore when in a tavern, charming the pants and coin off everyone listening to him spinning a story, “Pleased to meet you, Charlotte. Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and unfortunately for you, temporary interrogator.” He leaned forward on his chair, elbows on knees, hands and fingers folded under his chin. “Now, considering the quite frankly weird circumstances we found you in, my next question would be, where are you from? I'm sure your family would only be too happy to know you're safe, and to explain why you happened to be in the ass-end of the Frostbacks. It'd surely be no trouble to contact them for you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The memories of Momma's funeral swam before my eyes when he mentioned my family. Blinking them away, I cleared my all-too tight throat, “I'm sorry to disappoint you Varric, but if this is where I think I am, it would be quite impossible. I'm...not from here.”</p>
<p>“I don't think that was in doubt, Siren, you definitely don't have the accent for it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking my head, I could feel the anxiety build in me. “No Varric, not Ferelden. I'm not from <em>Thedas</em>. I'm not from this world at all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And that anxiety was not pointless as I could see his face twist into shock and disbelief. Gone were the walls in his eyes, struggling to process that. “Bullshit. If you weren't from this world you wouldn't know half the shit you've let on knowing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sighed, thinking how to phrase it,“Where I'm from, Thedas isn't real...The Fifth Blight, The Tale of the Champion, The Inquisition...all of them are...interactive stories. People from my world can...experience these events in Thedas from the perspective of the Warden, Hawke, and the Herald respectively. We can make choices in these perspectives that impact the story, or the companions we find in the stories. Not to say what we do controls the actual world of Thedas. Just each person's experience in the story. For example, based on certain tidbits about, say the Champion, I can tell you what happened because of that choice. Was the actual Hawke a mage, or were they a rogue or warrior?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The poor man seemed to be in shock, even if all his attention was on me. “Mage,” he said almost absently. I nodded, keeping eye contact with him, “Then I already know what happened in Lothering when they left. Carver was the sibling to make it to Kirkwall, while the other twin, Bethany, was pummeled to death by an ogre. Earlier they ran into a warrior by the name of Aveline and her Templar husband Wesley. After Bethany's tragic death, a dragon swooped down seemingly out of nowhere and cleared the way of Darkspawn. Out of the flames there stood an old woman, dressed in full battle armor with piercing yellow eyes. She called herself 'Flemeth', 'Asha'bellinar', an 'old hag who talks too much'. She offered to take them to Gwaren in exchange for bringing an amulet to the Dalish clan residing near Kirkwall once they caught a ship willing to take them there. But, as Wesley was infected with the Blight, they had to put the poor bastard out of his misery first. Devastated Aveline, but there was no cure besides becoming a Grey Warden, and there were none to be found. Was I close?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked deep in thought, probably matching everything I said to everything the Hawkes and Aveline had told him about that day and seemingly finding no fault. He still looked skeptical though. Had to go for the big guns. “How about something you were there for, hmm? Does the phrase 'I swear I will find that son of a bitch – sorry Mother – and I will <em>kill him</em>! Ohh, let's hope there's a way out of here.' sound familiar?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stood from his chair so fast, his face thunderous. Shit, I pushed too hard. Goddamn it. The anxiety built into a panic clawing up my throat. I fell back on more primal instincts and cowered. It didn't matter that my ears weren't able to fold or my tail wasn't present, I still submitted. Throat bare and submissive whines eking from my throat, I groveled. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I couldn't think of anything else to say to get you to believe me, please!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>'Disgraceful. Pathetic. <b>Weak. Disgusting </b></em>
  <span>
    <span>
      <b>UNHOLY </b>
    </span>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>
      <b>CREATURE</b>
    </span>
    <b>!' </b>
  </em>
  <span>The thoughts whispered in my head, the voices of my aunt and the doctors mixing in a cacophony of hate. It drowned out everything around me, I couldn't muffle them no matter how hard I covered my ears. Suddenly a hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched hard, not registering it as gentle. Surely, my Mate would punish me, for touching such a raw nerve. My own family had done so for much less. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then the touch spread to my hair, gently stroking fingers moved across my scalp. Slowly the voices became weaker and weaker, leaving a gentle shushing, like wind through trees. I started to hear my own sobs and cries as well, and I worked to contain them. </span>
  <span>God I was a damn wreck. </span>
  <span>I was so not used to people anymore. Then again, living almost ten years squatting in an abandoned shack in the middle of the woods, making what little money I could doing odd jobs or singing in parks just to keep gas for a small generator, does not help with socializing. People watching maybe, but definitely not socializing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I don't make it a habit of hitting unarmed women, Siren. Your story is...far fetched to say the least. To be honest, even I couldn't make that shit up. And those incidents you know about...quite frankly you shouldn't know about them - not unless you were there. But I don't think you're lying. I should bring Nightingale in here for the rest of this...I get the feeling there's more you haven't said yet, but this already went above my pay grade. I better be getting paid for this at least, I don't like making pretty ladies cry.” My breathing settled, and I let my body unfold while still on my stomach before curling onto my side facing him, his soothing petting feeling like the most potent drug in the world. I could hear a purr-like growl of contentment rumble from somewhere. Only when he stopped his petting to walk towards the door was I cognizant enough to recognize it came from me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he opened the door and spoke with the scouts outside, probably asking to bring Leliana in for the rest of my interrogation, </span>
  <span>I decided to actually look at the furnishings in the cabin this time. There were the desk, bed, rug and door I'd noticed earlier, but there was also a fireplace in the far corner. The fire that probably was in there was now down to mere embers and ash; he must've been too busy at his desk to notice the lack of light, and then all the blubbering I did must've further distracted him. Next to it I could see a book shelf filled with spines of many colors of tomes. Not surprising, an author must keep up with the latest sellers. Helps to keep one's muse fresh – also tends to help avoid </span>
  <span>plagiarism</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Varric stepped back into the room he wasn't alone. A face I knew very well, clad in chainmail and purplish blue leather with fiery hair and eyes as cold as the ice she apparently wore around her heart nowadays and just as blue. It hurt me to see her like this, but it didn't surprise me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hello, Leliana.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Varric's POV</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Varric's tells me you have information, yes? I would be most interested in what you have to say, as well as a few questions of my own.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Siren – or rather Charlotte as she says is her name – takes the time to get Nightingale on the same page, I took a minute to process the flurry of moments since she woke up. All said, it could've gone a lot worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>'</span>
  <em>Also a hell of a lot better.'</em>
  <span> I added to myself. Her story sounded absolutely impossible, something only a lunatic or a liar would make up...but a lunatic wouldn't be lucid enough to know fact from fiction, and neither did she act as one. And like I told her, I knew she wasn't lying, her body language was all off with what she said. If she were lying, she'd also come up with a more believable lie. The proof she had though...was pretty damning in and of itself. What happened in Lothering could've been explained away; she could've been hiding out of Hawke's line of sight, could've hidden behind something while everything was going down...as unlikely as that was it was still plausible. But the other…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maker's ass, I didn't mean to scare her that bad. I wouldn't have done anything, I just needed to <em>move</em>, to pace and wrap his mind around what she was telling me. That last thing she told me was a direct fucking quote for Ancestors' sakes! My own no less! And only three other people were there when I said it, and I'm pretty damn sure they wouldn't blab about it. Definitely not that specifically. The way she mimicked my aside and emphasis was a pretty nice touch though. Regardless it freaked me out as well as hitting a rather sensitive nerve.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The look on her face though...her alabaster skin bleached to near gray, her pupils turned to pinpricks and the golden glow I saw in her eyes the other night when we found her flared to life near instantaneously as she <em>cowered </em>from me. Actually cowered, like I would hit her! A part of me wanted to find whoever could cause that much fear inside a woman and tear them apart with my bare hands, but the larger part recognized she needed comfort, so I started to stroke her hair. Most women I've met are even more like cats than most people: a good petting is one of the quickest ways to get them purring in your lap...okay for once that actually sounded dirtier than I meant it - but that kind of petting works too. An action that turned out to be difficult to stop. Her hair was the softest I'd ever felt between my fingers that I could remember, and the way she melted into a purring puddle on my bed? It was a sight I found irresistible...but a deal was a deal. And I knew if I didn't deliver on it soon, the scouts on guard would rat me out and Nightingale would come to collect herself anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Getting the three ring-leaders of this rag-tag band of desperados to agree on anything was like pulling teeth from a bogfisher, but to get them to allow Charlotte to recover in my cabin instead of a cell was a damn nightmare. While Ruffles didn't have much of a leg to stand on, as our 'interloper' - to quote our illustrious Seeker- was both unconscious and unknown, she didn't particularly have many terms beyond that she was cared for but not in anyone's way. Curly, after finding out she wasn't a mage and seemed to be a noncombatant, had very minimal concerns regarding her, simply that she be watched and her belongings confiscated until she could explain them. That was a whole other kettle of fish, when the Herald, the inner circle, and the ringleaders had a gander at what was in her bag...yeah we all wanted to know what the hell some of those things were and where they came from. Not that even Chuckles could figure out how to work some of them, beyond a small object made of metal and glass wherein he tapped a button and it lit up. Luckily, he only dropped it onto the table so we didn't have to tell Charlotte something of hers got broken. At least I hope it isn't, the image on the glass faded to black when it hit the table. That and a flat, thin book-shaped object made of metal that was locked tight. Other than that, we found a leather pouch with pockets that had some form of identification in it in a script none of us had ever seen, some coins that were the strangest coppers and silvers I've ever seen, and green colored paper with pictures on them. Chuckles thinks it might be some form of currency.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That left Nightingale. Shit, but that woman could play hard ball...need to make a note to never get in her little black book. Her terms were having the healers be escorted by her scouts for each session, where said scouts would take up posts outside my cabin. And since she was to be my 'responsibility', I needed to be around her at all times until she was cleared by Nightingale herself as a breach in security. In short, I was a prisoner – <em>again! </em>This time I was only confined to my quarters until the woman woke up and was questioned by our favorite spymaster. But still, I just got out from under the Seeker's thumb for Andraste's sake! I suppose she considers it mercy that, while in my temporary prison, I'm to get a hold of my contacts in the Merchant's Guild, Orzammar, the Carta, the Coterie, and pretty much anyone in my own network and get them in contact with <em>her</em> so that we could 'pool resources' to benefit the Inquisition. The sheer <em>nerve </em>of the woman…alright so I was going to make use of my contacts anyway, plus my publisher was already up my ass for my next book, but damn. I spent most of the time at my desk both writing and Maker help me <em>brooding</em>...if Fenris ever found out about that I'd never live it down. I remember hoping getting a crack at the puzzle that was Siren first was worth the...let's call it investment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Boy did I get a shock. Not many people can figure me out that fast, if at all, and the only people that can are the walking balls of crazy I call my friends and Bianca. Until her. Needless to say, it put me even more on guard then I usually am. I could tell doing that was making her squirm, and while I thought it was cute, it was obvious that put her more on edge as well. Not necessarily good for information gathering that way, so I figured it was time to switch to the good guard in any case. I just didn't have the heart to be cruel to her. She had one of those faces, the demeanor of one you just couldn't stay mad at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck, you realize you're infinitely more terrifying in person, right?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have heard that before, yes. Though most do not tell me to my face.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Well, so far this is going swimmingly.</em>
  <span> The air in the room became so thick with tension, I wouldn't have been surprised if you could cut it with a butter knife. </span>
  <span>Something told me the shit was gonna fly. I nonchalantly stood, leaning against my desk and inching closer to Bianca. </span>
  <span>Just in case.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I know you're thinking I'm a spy or some shit. But I'm not. Seriously, this is the most social interaction I've had in quite awhile. I'm not even from here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only change in the bard's expression was an upward tick of her eyebrow. “Oh really. Where are you from then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The brunette sighed, “Well I was born in Florida, but I've been living in Louisiana for almost eight years now. Both of those are states in the continent of North America.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>None of those places rang any bells with me, and by the twitch in her cheek, Nightingale didn't know them either. Interesting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There is no mention of any of those locations on any maps of Thedas.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's because I'm not from Thedas. As I was telling Varric, if I'm correct and I'm not in a coma or something, something or someone pucked me from my world and plonked me down here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“'Your world'? You mean to suggest...what? That out of nowhere, a force of powerful unknown magic simply <em>plonked</em> you in Thedas? Do you take me for a fool?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing her fingers twitch towards her knives, I dashed in front of her Bianca on my back in her holster, palms outstretched like I was soothing a serpent coiled to strike. Not that I would actually do that, I'm not in the habit of willing acts of suicidal insanity...misadventures with Hawke not withstanding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Easy, Nightingale. It would explain the strange Rift we saw when we found her. Maybe that's why it was a different color? And think of the metal crap that was in her bag that came with her. No one's seen their like before, Chuckles certainly hasn't seen anything in his Fade travels - so he says, and I for damn sure haven't heard any dwarven tales about machines like them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you believe her? This <em>story</em> of another world, with circumstantial evidence at best?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well if you have any other explanations, I'm all ears.”</p>
<p>“You sure giving up more of your height's a good idea, Varric?” Charlotte chimed in, half her mouth tugging upwards in an inviting smirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I couldn't help the pleasantly surprised laugh that belted out of me, “Using short jokes on the dwarf, Siren?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shrugged, acting nonchalant even though I could see her hands trembling in her lap, “I'm just saying, you're already eye level with almost everyone's ass now...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're only, what, three inches taller than me? Glass houses, Siren. Watch where you're throwing those stones.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, I never said anything about not enjoying the view. As it is, every ass I've seen here so far has been pretty good eye candy.” She said this as her gaze blatantly swept over me from top to bottom, the playful mischief dancing in her hazel eyes doing nothing to disguise the predatory heat I couldn't help but respond to. I couldn't resist responding to her snarky flirting either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Madam! You wound me. Are you insinuating that I am an ass?” The grin on my face felt as natural as breathing as I bantered with her, the lovely scent emanating from her teasing me as much as her words. Her returning smile was enthralling, more so now that it was relaxed and genuine. A wave of warmth bloomed in my chest at being the one to put it there. Another one trickled down my spine at her throaty chuckle as she gave me another once over, her pupils dilating in feminine interest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A highly attractive ass, that's for damn certain. And whoever said that was a bad thing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, at least my finer qualities aren't going unappreciated.” Her giggle was infectious, and I found myself chuckling with her, her rosy blush spreading down her elegant neck. Following the line of flushed flesh led to the neckline of the night shift one of the female healers had set her up in, where I noticed the edges of a brown splotch just beneath her left collarbone. Definitely worth investigating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you two are quite finished?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I'd almost forgotten the red-headed bard was even in the room with us. A quick glance showed her face softened slightly in amusement, a barely there smile playing about her lips. Her icy eyes weren't quite warm but definitely less harsh than before. Progress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charlotte cleared her throat, seeming to rally herself. Her spine stiffened as she looked the spymaster in the eye, honesty radiating from every pore. “I have proof Leliana. In my world, the things that exist in Thedas are considered fairy tales and myths. Hell, even Thedas doesn't exist outside the story and those that experience it. There is no magic; no elves, dwarves, or Qunari either, only myths about them. There's no Fade, demons are only found in religious tales, and any modern cases of demonic possession are not as physically transformative as they are here. There is paranormal phenomenon around the possessed but ultimately the transformation is mental and emotional. Also only taken seriously by older religions and written off by everyone else as hoaxes. There are no dragons, Blights, or darkspawn there either.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If there are no such things in your world, how would you know of them?” And we were back to stone faced. Shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We do have stories of them. Either that they once existed, or that they still exist but on another plane of reality we can't see that coincides with ours and sometimes intersects, depends on the person that you ask. As I was telling Varric, we have ways of experiencing stories in ways that can...well, affect them. Not the actual world the story is in obviously, but our experience in them based on the readers choices. Thedas is one of those stories. Specifically the tales about the Hero of Fereldan, the Champion of Kirkwall...and the Herald of Andraste.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nightingale might as well have been carved from stone with how still she was, nobody daring to speak in the heavy silence that followed until the bard broke it, “What proof do you have of this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Siren looked down at her fingers briefly, seeming to brace herself before meeting her interrogator's eyes once again, that same honesty still there, but softer. Tender even I would say. “I remember, when I experienced the Warden's story, we made a stop in Lothering after leaving the Korcari Wilds. Alistair, Morrigan and I came upon two people we took with us in our quest of stopping the Fifth Blight. One was a Qunari, Sten of the Beresaad, kept in a cage for the crime of slaughtering a farmer and his family. The other...was a lay sister in Lothering's chantry, who told us of a vision she'd had from the Maker. Later, she told me of her vision, of a wave of darkness threatening to swallow the world, of her frozen in place with it just behind her. And when she woke, there was a single white rose blooming on a rose bush everyone in that Chantry knew was as lifeless as a doornail.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leliana inhaled sharply, looking away. Her shoulders hunched, a degree one wouldn't notice unless watching it happen, but still there as if the breath were knocked out of her. Charlotte quietly continued.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know the Warden could've made many different choices then what I did in the story and I know you don't know me. I know that quite possibly you will not react well to me saying this at all much less with a third party present. And I know that there's a great chance I might be wrong about this. But...I feel I know enough about both of you to say that you are some of the people I would trust with my life. Because I know that you both have good hearts, you will not make a call you feel is not necessary. I want to use what knowledge I have of the ways ahead to help. Whatever probation you need to have me on, I'll bear it. Whatever talents I have, I wish to put at the disposal for the Inquisition.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nightingale sighed, pinching the bridge of her dainty nose, asking in as steady a voice as she probably could. Maker knows, I wouldn't be able to say anything in her place so kudos to her. Not after such an endearingly, touchingly naive sentiment. The lump in my throat wouldn't let me even if I did know what to say to that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You realize, the others and I will have to convene to decide on this yes? That you will likely have to tell this to the rest of the inner circle. They will be skeptical.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charlotte nodded, her eyes still so tender as they looked at the red head, who looked for a fleeting moment to have the weight of the world on her shoulders, “I know Leliana. I expected nothing less. There are some things you need to know, however. Things you should know before the others.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That seemed to bring Nightingale around, getting back to business. “I'm listening.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“From the looks of things, I've come at a time close to the beginning of the Inquisition but after the Conclave. Have you confronted the clerics in Val Royeux?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I glanced at Nightingale, subtly shaking my head at her searching glance. No, I hadn't told her anything. This was all Siren.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. We have only just brought someone into the fold who mentioned that would be the wisest course of action.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mother Giselle. From the crossroads. Alright then, this is gonna be interesting.” She thought for a moment, “The things I know...every piece of literature I've ever read has said that telling every outcome to everything that one knows of the future leads to consequences that are twice as bad as the original outcome. It's considered a cliché, but it's one for a reason. For example, if we came upon a fork in the road and I were to tell you that you were about to step in dog shit, by walking to the right, the logical solution would be to walk to the left. And unknown to both of us, there would be a group of bandits down the left path setting up an ambush.” Now the woman on the bed took on an intellectual air, like a scholar stating a thesis. Her eyes were wide and bright, still honest but now with an inquisitive curiosity. Well, if she was lying, she definitely wouldn't have had a peasant's education. She had to have gone to a school somewhere, or had tutors, which would be a decent foothold in making inquiries. I always did like a woman who not only had a brain but knew how to use it. I couldn't help but interject.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, but you can at least fight bandits. Have you ever tried to get dog shit out of shoe leather? It's a nightmare.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pressed her full lips together, probably in a bid to keep from laughing, but she couldn't hide the humor that reached her eyes. “I've never had the pleasure, no.” Taking a breath, she sobered once again, “The point is, if I tell you what to prepare for and how to prepare for it, there will be a consequence to it. And it might cost more lives than it will save. A consequence I'd be useless for helping prevent because it wasn't apart of the original timeline, and one you might not be able to catch in time. Also, if I were to tell you what battles you win, even if I were to tell you how to prepare for that victory, the thought that you had it in the bag-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-would cause us to get cocky and half-ass it. Leading to heavy losses that might not have happened otherwise.” I finished with a sigh. “Why can't things ever be easy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Because then life wouldn't be quite as interesting. Don't fool yourself Varric, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't have any action or drama to take down for your stories. Truth is always much stranger than fiction with shit like this after all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well she had me there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see your point.” Nightingale stepped back into the conversation after a moment, taking in everything Siren said and realizing this was going to require quite the leap of faith, and a shit load of trust on our parts. Hopefully, her supposed talents would be more a benefit than a burden. If she was here to help, I doubt Nightingale would let her go in any case now. Not after she's shown she has knowledge she shouldn't have. If she were to fall into enemy hands, the best case scenario would be that she had knowledge of the Inquisition's weaknesses or at least its member's weaknesses. The worst case… I don't even want to give that idea any thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are these talents that you say you have? Keep in mind you will be closely watched, if the other's agree to this, and you will not have much clearance until you prove you can be trusted.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Charlotte sighed, both relief and vague disappointment slumping her shoulders, “Well I guess that throws cooking out the window. Well, I'm a pretty decent singer, enough to make a living on street corners, as well as a steady gig with a local café for live music. I doubt you have guitars here, but it shouldn't take me long to learn lute notes. I've a keen ear.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maryden has been looking a bit peaked lately, what with all the hours Flissa has her booked. Could be a good idea to give her some time off, rest her voice a bit.” If I sounded like I was pleading I admit I was just a bit. Something to give her a place here. And that it might be in a tavern he spent a good deal of his off time in? All the better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, your skills will have to be assessed, after meeting with the others of the inner circle. Provided we all agree on your recruitment. Anything else.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now Siren looked uncomfortable, ducking her head and twiddling her fingers, shoulders hunched. She looked the very picture of shame and embarrassment. “Well...remember when I said that my world didn't have magic? Just fairy tales and myths? Well it doesn't but there's one thing we do have. But it's not due to curses or magic. It's a condition that's passed down through a family's genes.” She looked up at Nightingale with sad eyes, the green in them swirling with the brown, “Remember the Brecilian Forest, Leliana? What you and the Warden found there?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a moment of thought, a sharp inhale had him looking in her direction, the bard's eyes widened in shock, every muscle stiffened with tension, “How...how is <em>that</em> possible without magic?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't know when my kind was created. Some of us believe that when man and wolf started to bond, to share our fires and our kills, to protect one another, that we willed ourself to become them. We shared the blood of a wolf through self made wounds, freely given, beneath a full moon and shed human skin for the first time. And it's passed through the generations. But that's just folklore. It does show in our blood and our DNA, but no more a trait that the proteins that control which hair color you inherit or any family health problems you're prone to. Also, the full moon is important but it doesn't force us to phase. Simply increases the desire to, also our instincts are closer to the surface. We tend to be a bit more wolf-like in mannerisms and temperament, but it doesn't rule us.” Then her face flushed bright red, “Also a female goes into oestrus during the full moon, while a male goes into rut. But that's about it. The myth about silver burning our flesh is just that, a myth. Wolfsbane is actually toxic to us, as well as St. John's Wort though you might know it as Goatweed, and Yarrow. Shit will kill us if we eat any of it. We don't kill humans, unless they attack first. Just like any normal wolf, so you don't have to worry about anyone dying. We hunt as normal wolves do, the same game, the same tactics. I'm bit...different than most of my kin, however.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I seriously can't believe the shit I'm hearing. I keep looking between Nightingale and Siren, waiting for one of them to break out laughing. Neither of them do. Ancestors' great saggy tits...they were completely serious. Guess that part of the Tale of the Warden was true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly just how are you...<em>different</em>?” Now the bard's interest was piqued, her eyes taking a curious light. Charlotte sighed, brushing the tresses of her hair back over her head in a nervous gesture.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay...no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. I was...a science experiment, pretty much. The wolf isn't the only form I can turn into. I can show you, but I'd rather do it in front of the whole group of y'all. While I've come to love my other forms, depending on which one I phase into determines how painful it is. Also talking about how they came about is...very unpleasant to say the least.” Her tone was flat, her shoulders stiff, and she couldn't look either one of us in the eye. She reminded me of Fenris, when his past as Danarius' slave would crop up in conversation: defensive, guarded, and as likely to lash out as a spooked horse. A wave of dread went down my spine when she said the words 'science experiment.' Just what the hell did that mean, and why would it put that look on her face? I thought of Bubbles' words about the damage inside Charlotte's body, and something told me I really wouldn't like the answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fair enough. I will head to the Chantry and we will convene. I will send one of my scouts to alert you, Varric, when the rest of the inner circle has gathered. I expect you to escort her to the meeting.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that she turned on her heel and stormed out the cabin's door, leaving Charlotte and I in a silence that lasted for the longest time. I finally turned to the gorgeous woman in my bed, to see her looking at me with a scared, defeated expression I really didn't like on her. She looked like Nightingale told her to go ten rounds with a pride demon, with her only weapon being a rotten fish carcass. So, naturally, I had to lighten the mood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So. Werewolf, huh? Tell me, am I going to have to worry about combing my sheets for fleas?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her laugh was weak, but the hopeless look in her eyes was lessening. “I'll have you know, I keep myself well-groomed. And I promise I don't bite…much.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, if I could still get her to joke back, maybe this trip down nightmare-memory lane, as this is probably going to be, won't be so bad?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shit...Just from thinking that, now it probably will be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ok, I had planned to do a bit more of the meeting, some background on werewolf vs. government/bounty hunters...the characters had different ideas. It will be coming next chapter though. Pinky swear! Hope you enjoy the extra looong chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Varric POV</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A little while after my attempt at banter, Siren asked if there was anyway to borrow a lute. When I asked her why, she said she might as well start learning how to play it, just in case. That she had to learn what each note sounded like before translating what she knew from the “guitar” that she “loved to play” to a new instrument. A part of me wondered if it was the same thing as one of those Rivaini instruments I remember Isabela telling me about. Also made a note to track one down but until then, I figured what the hell, would pass the time anyway, though a part of me still planned on asking her questions...just not today apparently. If all went well, I reasoned, there would be plenty of time to get my answers. I could be a very patient man, when I needed to be. On top of that, with the upcoming, hopefully metaphorical, gut-spilling she was going to be doing that was probably going to wind up with at least one person losing their breakfast over – at least that's the feeling I got from the brief mention of the topic- then the last thing she needed was another and more intimate interrogation from me. So I arranged with one of the scouts to bring a spare from the tavern. And that's how we spent our time until another scout came to fetch us: her quietly tuning and strumming her borrowed lute, humming just as quietly along with it; and I at my desk, alternating between writing more letters, and watching her as I gave my cramping fingers a break. Price of being both an author and businessman – eventually all that time clenching a quill in one position will catch up to you.</p><p> </p><p>Then there was the fact that I needed time to both wrap my mind around what she said in my cabin and brace myself for what was likely going to be one hell of a show. I mean, fucking werewolves? Seriously?! Siren's gonna be damn lucky if we can keep Cassandra and Cullen from skewering her, that is if this shit's actually legitimate. Though since she was the one to suggest showing everyone like a horror-inspired show and tell…</p><p> </p><p>Immediately, my mind went to the Tale of the Warden, of those twisted half-man, half-beast creatures they found in the Brecilian Forest that nearly decimated the local Dalish with that haunting howl I heard from her playing over the images. A shiver worked its way down my spine as we now walked our way through Haven towards the Chantry, me at Charlotte's side with one hand on her back to guide her through the throngs of people going about their duties. I decided to turn my thoughts down a far more pleasant direction while I still could – namely the charming expression of child-like wonder on my companion's face as she kept swiveling her head in all directions, trying to look at everything at once. I had to admit it was adorable.</p><p> </p><p>And the feel of her warmth leaching into my hand through her borrowed tunic wasn't so bad either. A rather wonderful distraction in fact. I could feel the muscles in her back flexing even through my gloves as she walked, her hips swaying with a natural grace on each step. I could hear the fabric of her also borrowed breeches rubbing between her voluptuous thighs just beneath the din of the everyday chaos. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, making her appear even smaller as she leaned into me, still watching every one and everything around her, the shades of green in her iris overtaking the hue of her eyes for the moment, before finally looking down at the snow beneath her feet with a wide-eyed awe, freezing in place. I stopped with her, bending into her line of sight to get her attention, “Uh, you okay, Siren? You know the Chantry isn't getting any closer just standing here, right?”</p><p> </p><p>That seemed to bring her around, she looked back up at me, her eyes showing a contentment and joy that caused a tender warmth glow in my chest as she told me, “I've never seen snow before. It's too warm where I'm from, even in winter. It's beautiful, Varric.”</p><p> </p><p>I couldn't resist. I groaned, “Yeah, it's always pretty, at first. Then you step in a snow drift and soak yourself up to your chest and freeze to death.” She giggled at me and I smiled. “So, what's it like where you're from?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Florida is where I was born, the southwestern region of it actually. It was a small town down along the coastline, so I remember there being a lot of beaches. Florida is mainly a tourist and retirement state, so there were people of all kinds down there. Outside of beaches, the whole state's pretty much either farmland or swamp. Rivers and tributaries and canals all over the place. What killed ya each year though was the humidity in the summer months, air was so heavy with rain ya couldn't breathe half the time, or at least I couldn't, and since that's typically the rainy season, with the heat and humidity, there came the fuckin' mosquitoes. Ya'll have those here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I've heard of them, but they're more seen in the jungles around Seheron and in some parts of Tevinter. Too cold for them down here. Why?” I notice as she's talking, her accent starts changing. This twanging starts coming out, turning her voice into a drawl. I never heard the like of it before.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank Christ! I hated those things so damn much. Male mosquitoes aren't so bad, they mainly feed on nectar, lot like hummingbirds. It's the females that suck ass. Literally. They have eggs to feed, so they find both humans and animals alike, land on them, and use that damn needle-nose of theirs to poke ya and suck on your blood like fuckin' leeches. If you're lucky, you'll only get away with a raised bump that itches like crazy. The bad part is that their spit can carry disease. Shit like malaria or yellow fever, and that shit straight up kills people. Also dengue fever, West Nile virus, the Zika virus, and chikungunya. And they're near impossible to see 'cause they're tiny, fast, and you don't feel them on ya 'till their spit makes ya itch.”</p><p> </p><p>Most of that shit, I didn't even know what it was but it definitely didn't sound at all pleasant. Maker's ass. Remind me never to go to Seheron then. Not only do they have the people there killing each other left and right outta nowhere, they have tiny little death bugs. Great. “And you had those only in the summer right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Lord, I <em>wish</em><span>! We had them year-round, really, but the cooler months most insects start going to ground. It was mainly after any rain we had that ya had to be careful of. Mosquitoes lay their eggs in pools of standing water. Since Florida's only a few feet above sea level, it was prone to a lot of flooding, especially the more southern parts. It's why most of the southern tip of the state is straight up swamp. Though since the medicine we have is a helluva lot more advanced than here, we have vaccines we get when we're kids that prevent most of those diseases. Recently I heard that stronger strains of certain ones were making a comeback, though I don't remember which ones they are. It's the </span><em>itching </em><span>that drives me up the wall though! I'd rather deal with a few angry gators than walk into a swarm of those things.”</span></p><p> </p><p>Okay, I'm starting to appreciate the cold a little more, honestly. She does have a point, it does mean fewer bugs. “Gay-ters? Something tells me those aren't cute and fluffy either, Siren.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugged, “Well personally, I can find them cute, but most people don't. And they certainly aren't fluffy. </span>
  <span>Alligators are</span>
  <span> huge reptiles, </span>
  <span>mainly around water. Typically the only time they aren't near water, is if they're looking to find another water source. Apex ambush predators. They're pretty low to the ground, even in a high walk, but they're </span>
  <em>long</em>
  <span>. An adult alligator can reach up to thirteen and fourteen feet long and they weigh a shit-ton, between seven hundred and one thousand pounds. If I ever see the Storm Coast, I'll show you. I won't be able to reach an adult's size, only a</span>
  <span>bout six feet</span>
  <span>, it'll still be the same shape and instincts. Don't worry though. I promise not to bite.” She said the last with a teasing smirk, that didn't actually reassure me, considering the subject matter. Thirteen foot long predator reptiles? Tiny, lightning fast death bugs? Even I couldn't make this up. “</span>
  <span>And this place that has disease carrying insects, and has an apex water-loving predator in a place that is </span>
  <em>mostly water</em>
  <span>...is a tourist hotspot?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>“<span>Well, gators are actually pretty shy around people. They'd prefer to just swim away or submerge themselves rather than waste energy trying to kill you. They're rather peaceful to be honest. Just don't </span><span>get too close to them or</span><span> go near their nests. </span><span>Not all gators stand guard around them constantly, but if they do catch you near the eggs, Momma gator's gonna rip you a new ass. She don't play that shit with her babies. Hell even then, they can't run very fast on land or keep running on land for long. Swamp tours are pretty popular, just to get a glimpse of them. It's the babies that are absolutely </span><em>adorable</em><span>!” Her voice trailed into a high pitched coo as she stared off into the distance, “They're so tiny and wriggly and they make the </span><em>cutest</em><span> noises</span><span>.” </span><span>She tilted her head up, baring her pale, elegant throat, and made a </span><span>series of </span><span>squeaky grunt-chirping sound</span><span>s</span><span>.</span></p><p> </p><p>“<span>...</span><span>Okay that does sound cute. But then they get </span><em>big</em><span> Siren, huge by the sounds of it. I'm just glad they don't exist here. I quite like my ass right where it is thank you, not bitten off and landing in some creature's belly.” Someone had to be the voice of reason here, even if the sight of her slender throat was… distracting. </span></p><p> </p><p>“Master Tethras!”</p><p> </p><p>At the shout we both turned to look at an elf coming from the Chantry. He stopped a few feet from us, out of breath, “Sister Nightingale...wishes to know...what's...taking so...long.” Poor lad was doubled over with his hands on his knees. Must not be used to the cold dryness of mountain air just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Charlotte moved toward the runner, pausing when the boy flinched. “I'm sorry, I promise I'm not gonna hurt you,” she lightly gripped both his wrists before bringing them up to his head slowly. She laced his fingers together behind his head so that his elbow were in line with his shoulders, “Now take slow deep breaths, in through the nose, and out through your mouth until it stops hurting.”</p><p> </p><p>After watching her distrustfully for a moment, the elf took her advice, his slight chest moving slowly with his breaths. After a few more moments of breathing, I could see his shoulders and his arms relaxing, the pulse point in his neck slowing, and the flush leaving his face. I quirked a brow at her in question, to which she shrugged, “While the summers were wet, winters were very dry. I had a lung problem when I was little, before I first phased. My older cousin showed me that trick; holding your arms like that increases lung capacity. After I could phase, it wasn't much of a problem anymore though it still crops up sometimes.”</p><p> </p><p>Turning my attention back to the boy, who was now breathing easier, the elf nodded at her shyly, his eyes more trusting than they were before. “You have my thanks, milady.” He turned to back to address me, “Sister Nightingale was wonderin' what was taking so long, Master Tethras. She sent me to make sure you was on your way.”</p><p> </p><p>Uh huh. More likely to make sure the newly discovered werewolf didn't somehow slip me and bolt. Have to say I'm getting really sick of the underestimation around here. I hear too much tends to be bad for one's health.</p><p> </p><p>To be clear, I mean bad for the humans.</p><p> </p><p>Everywhere you go, it's always the same shit with humans: magic is evil, elves are either thieving trash or wild savages, and dwarves are either miserly swindlers or mindless thugs...well, I might not be able to deny that last one completely. I do deal with the Merchant's Guild and the Carta on an unfortunately regular basis. A basis I tried with every last fiber in me to make less and less regular without it coming to back to bite me in the ass.</p><p> </p><p>“We're on our way kid, we just got a little bit sidetracked. You can tell Sister Nightingale we'll be there shortly, and uh,” I took a step towards him, leaning in to add quietly near a sharply pointed ear, “make sure you tell her from me that there have been absolutely <em>no </em>problems with our guest. Not a peep of trouble. Understand kid?” When I shook his hand, I made sure that the small calloused palm wasn't empty by the time I pulled away. Taking in how the clothes he wore were child-sized and could still flutter in the mountain breeze, it couldn't hurt to personally make sure he had enough for at least one meal at the tavern. Not that Flissa was likely to charge him much if at all, considering the lad couldn't have been more than twelve summers old and was skinny as a twig, she was a bit of a bleeding heart after all. Not that I had any problems with that, quite the opposite actually. It was the serving girls that took over the tavern when Flissa wasn't there that were the heartless flies in everyone's ale.</p><p> </p><p>Probably why Flissa's shifts were the busiest honestly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Master Tethras. Right away.” Smart lad that he was, he quickly closed his small fingers around the sovereigns I slipped him before anyone could see, glancing around him before he nodded and turned to run towards the Chantry.</p><p> </p><p>“That was kind of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice pulled my attention back to her, noticing that tender look in her eyes that matched her lovely smile. The heat I felt rushing to my face was definitely not because I was flustered or anything. Must be because of the cold.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. And nugs could fly. “Well I had to give the boy something to weigh him down. Next stiff breeze would blow him straight outta Haven.”</p><p> </p><p>She scoffed quietly, her eyes still warm and tender as she kept smiling at me, “Whatever lets you sleep at night, Tethras.” A warmth was building in my chest as she looked at me. That smile was like sitting in front of a warm fire on a cold night; I could bask in it for hours. It'd be a tragedy to take it off her face, it seemed. Which is exactly what bringing her to the Chantry was going to do.</p><p> </p><p>As if she read my mind, her eyes looked up behind me at the building just a small set of stone steps away, the tenderness leaching from her eyes to a more somber expression. The golden glow swirled with the greens and browns of her iris as her spine stiffened, holding her chin high as she started to walk ahead of me. I followed closely on her right, resisting the urge to put my hand on her back as I'd had before. She stopped just as we reached the door, and turned to look at me.</p><p> </p><p>As she smiled once more for me, this one determined and strong, the morning sun peeked behind the clouds, hitting her mahogany tresses and setting them aflame with tones of gold and red as they fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze. I was stunned stiff. She was almost angelic, ethereal and fiery with steel and battle in her eyes. A warrior goddess come to life.</p><p> </p><p>Ancestors, I was in some serious trouble.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Varric, let's not keep our adoring audience waiting, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Charlotte POV</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Haven was so much bigger than the games. Also colder than Satan's frozen nutsack.</p><p> </p><p>The snow flakes drifting on the air as they fluttered to cover the frozen ground, the view of the morning sun reflecting off of the snowcapped Frostbacks, the sky still holding that pinkish hue, was utterly enchanting. I wish I had a camera, it certainly was very picturesque. The feel of the chilled breeze brushing over my face and hair was soothing, refreshing...or it would've been if the temperature was above liquid nitrogen levels. The only thing keeping me from shivering at this point was the fur I could feel bristling beneath my skin. Not the most comfortable of sensations, but one I've gotten used to, being close to phasing. The bustle of the town around me was a bit overwhelming, I never was good with crowds. The urge to disappear, to be small and unassuming, invisible even was unrelenting. The only thing keeping me calm really was the rather soothing notes of sandalwood emanating from right beside me, with the feel of Varric's large but gentle hand against my lower back distracting me from the throngs of people whipping by me. It grounded me enough to focus on the charming snowy village itself, and the beauty of the mountain scenery just beyond it. Green, demon-spitting hole in the sky not withstanding, it really was breathtaking, with the rustic town nestled at the base of those majestic peaks.</p><p> </p><p>At least there were no Reaver dragon cultists now. That would've sucked major ass to fight through in this rather large mountain town, especially after just barely getting my bearings. Varric was definitely helping, more than he even knew, most likely. I was still a bit shaky, considering the encounter with Leliana, a woman who could slit my throat or snap my neck before I'd be able to blink. At this point in her life, she probably would with few qualms. Being a bard aside, Leliana really did not handle grief or loss very well; just made her twice as lethal to be honest. I knew she had a sweet heart, it was just buried under the barbed wire and ice she needed to do her job as the Left Hand as well as she did. One couldn't stay innocent dealing with assassinations – ordering them, carrying them out, and being on the look out for anything that could be the sign of one. Poor woman was waist deep in blood, shadows and lies, all at the behest of a woman whom she looked at as a source of spiritual solace. Granted she'd had a taste of it with Marjolaine, but at least that bitch was simply another bard, concerned with money and survival. That was the one thing I couldn't quite forgive Justinia for: that everything for the greater good bullshit. And she brought Leliana into it at a time when she was so emotionally vulnerable.</p><p> </p><p>'I failed you too.' Damn straight you did. And you damn near drowned her soul in so much shadow, a wildfire wouldn't have drawn her out of it. Hopefully the Herald won't leave Leliana to flail in the dark.</p><p> </p><p>Talking with Varric on the way to the Chantry was just the thing I needed to center me. The winding roads in this town made it easy to get lost, so I did need him to guide me, even if I had to stand still to order my thoughts while talking to him. And I can't deny the giddiness that ran through me at seeing snow for the first time. I'd always dreamed of making snowmen and snow angels, and having a snowball fight. Maybe if there was time...if they let me stay.</p><p> </p><p>When he asked me about Florida…while my childhood was by no means perfect and half the family hated me, I had people who loved me there. Momma, Uncle John, Pop Pop, Nanna, Cousin Danny, Auntie Lena, Annie...All of them helped me be who I was, raised me well. As much as I hated those humid summers, I missed the little things that came with them. Cookouts and fireworks on the fourth of July, swimming the heat away in our pool at home, Momma's homemade cakes on my birthday. And even with the threat of gators and cottonmouths lurking in those murky, brackish waters, I missed weekend fishing trips with Pop Pop and Uncle John. Seeing Cousin Danny walk through the front door on Christmas Eve, fresh off the boat on furlough, playing everyday after school with Annie, Nanna trying to teach me how to say the rosary when she was sick and bed bound, Auntie Lena's gentle hands placing my fingers on the right strings on my first guitar, Momma's sweet voice singing with me...it was good to think of them, even if every remembered laugh or smile brought a sharp stab of pain to my chest.</p><p> </p><p>As much as I wanted to share my memories of home with my Mate, the elven boy was a welcome distraction from the maudlin thoughts running through my head. Hopefully my thoughts didn't show on my face.</p><p> </p><p>“That was kind of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Seeing him grease a boy's palm would've unnerved me if I didn't know how this world worked. What anyone else would see as shady and suspicious, was actually an act of charity that would ensure the stick-skinny elf had a full stomach for at least one night. If I actually had anything in this world's currency, I would've done something similar. Seeing Varric blush was absolutely adorable and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling. He really was a sweetheart.</p><p> </p><p>Catching a glance at the building behind him, with its large wooden doors and imposing stone walls, I could only assume this was the Chantry we were headed to. The reminder that this would be the official raking over the coals was not lost on me, and I could feel the blood leave my face.</p><p> </p><p>Right. Time to enter the lion's den. Or, considering Solas' background, the <em>wolves'</em> den. Shit, remembering who the fuck is gonna be in this meeting just made this three times more terrifying.</p><p> </p><p>Striding to the door, I turned to Varric before pushing the huge wooden door open, flashing a smile I hope was stronger than I felt. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was going into a one hell of a scrap. Only this one would be verbal. One thing was for certain though...if I could do anything positive for this world, for the people in it that had been there for me in the loneliest period of my life – fictional or no – I was not going to be turned away without a fight.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, Varric, let's not keep our adoring audience waiting, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>His face as I said that...I'm not sure how to describe the expression. Enchanted, awestruck, something like that. All I did know was it made my heart feel like it was swelling, and caused a swarm of butterflies to flutter in my stomach. I had to look away, gazing at my feet in the snow, feeling my face heat up in what was no doubt a very obvious blush. Christ, I really was not good at handling attention from men.</p><p> </p><p>With my eyes away from him, I didn't notice him move until I heard the door open beside me. Looking up, I saw him holding that massive and heavy door open with one hand while ushering me inside with an exaggerated bow and a flourish of his other arm, suave and sinful smirk matching the impish sparkle in his eyes, “After you, milady. You are the star in this affair after all.”</p><p> </p><p>I couldn't help but smirk back, playfully bantering, “Such a gentleman. Careful, Honeybee, much more of this chivalry and you'll spoil me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm shocked that this is all it would take to spoil you, Siren. Don't the men in your world have any manners?”</p><p> </p><p>As he closed the door behind me, his hand finding its spot on my back again, our voices echoed off the stone walls on the inside of the Chantry, reminding me a bit of the church in my hometown: a reverent air of peace and solemnity that damn near made me cross myself out of ingrained habit. That would probably cause a bit of a stir. Not the right time for that topic.</p><p> </p><p>Distracting myself, I focused my attention on answering Varric; “Certainly some do, but they're few and far between these days. Most of them forget a simple 'please' or 'thank you' anymore. Normally you only see them act like gentleman to get into a woman's pants, and even then most of them don't even bother with pretending. At least from what I've seen, no one really bothered with me. But the men in my family were raised to treat a lady properly. Nanna and Pop Pop wouldn't tolerate any less.”</p><p> </p><p>He kept his attention on me, side glancing to maneuver us out of the way of the pews and the Chantry sisters performing their morning duties, but for the most part down this long stretch of nave, his eyes never left me. I could feel the blush returning tenfold, a warmth coiling in my tummy tighter with every moment of his gaze on me. Damn but he was utterly captivating. The subtle flex of his jaw as he chewed on the little mini-rant I babbled at him was so smooth, the muscles there rolling without a hitch. “Well I'll be sure to remember that being a gentleman is a good way to put a rather fetching blush on your cheeks then, Siren.” And again with that damnable smirk. I was gonna be in some serious trouble with this man. "Well not too much of one hopefully." I muttered to myself, hoping he didn't hear. Judging from the wicked gleam in his eyes as he smirked, I'm pretty sure he did.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually we came to another wooden door, this one much smaller than the entrance. I couldn't hear much of anything besides faint heartbeats beyond the wood and stone, nor smell anything distinctive behind the heady incense the Sisters were using and of course Varric's soothing aroma. Both scents allowed me to quell the fear that had started to creep up my spine. I looked down to Varric's reassuring smile, his eyes communicating a gentle warmth and friendliness I wasn't used to anymore. I reached out to push the door open, both of us walking through together. I kept my gaze solely on my Mate, waiting until I heard the echoing clanking of the door closing behind us.</p><p> </p><p>A throat clearing drew my attention to the people gathered around what I assumed was the War Table. Cullen and Leliana were the first ones I saw, facing me on the opposite side, Josephine towards the end of the wooden barrier on my left; Cassandra and Solas were towards the Fereldan side of the map, bent over it as if they had been looking for something on it before I came in. Then there was the woman who turned to face me on the side of the table closest to the door, a Dalish elf I could only assume was the Herald of Andraste as she was the only face at the table that I wasn't familiar with off the bat.</p><p> </p><p>She had chosen Mythal for her vallaslin, the leafy green lines branching over her face in elegant lines that narrowed down her nose and flared to delicate roots below her full lower lip to her proud chin. They contrasted perfectly with her alabaster skin and flame red hair, while her pale blue eyes glowed in the candlelight. She was thin in a willowy sort of way, her legs long and graceful, her shoulders slight leading to a long and elegant neck. She was dressed in battle robes of green, blue, orange and brown – what I recognized as the robes of the High Keeper in the game. A staff clung to her back, long and wooden, with branches surrounding a pale yellow crystal. All in all, she was absolutely beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Hell all of them were beautiful. Shit the games didn't do them justice.</p><p> </p><p>Josephine looked absolutely resplendent in her ruffles of gold and violet, her wavy raven hued locks of hair pulled into an intricate up-do, her clear skin the color of creamy mocha glowing in the light of her candle on her clipboard. Her eyes seemed to be the friendliest besides Varric, looking at me with simple curiosity. The Herald was only slightly better, guarded of course but serene. Like a still and placid lake in mid-autumn: tepid, but not hostile.</p><p> </p><p>Cullen and Cassandra were practically pinning me to the floor with their gazes, the Commander's imposing bulk and fiery topaz eyes set in a paste-pale face above a darkly feathered mantle were only slightly more terrifying than Cassandra, her athletic build behind her armor and the molten amber orbs glaring at me with heated suspicion, her bronzed skin smooth even around the scarring on her face.</p><p> </p><p>Solas was absolutely <em>excruciating</em> to look at, and I mean that in a positive way, broken heart aside. His skin was was a fair but with a healthy flush beneath his skin, his features strong but sharp. The cleft in his chin was actually more subtle than in the game, only really visible because of the shadows the candlelight cast on his face. At first appearance, he appeared naturally bald, but with my eyesight I could see the slight stubble meaning it was shaved. Damn, <em><span>Gillette </span></em>would pay out the nose for his secret, it was such a close shave! His eyes were definitely blue though with hints of violet swirling in them.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, I was very happy to have found my Mate...because if I hadn't I would've been seriously <em>fucked</em>.</p><p> </p><p>I let out a whine and looked down at Varric, “Okay, next time, warn a girl before she walks into a room filled with this many pretty people, Honeybee. My heart can only take so much beauty!”</p><p> </p><p>Not missing a beat he snorted, “Well that explains why you fainted at the sight of me, Siren. Don't worry, I'll be sure to keep your delicate constitution in mind from now on.”</p><p> </p><p>A bit high on adrenaline I couldn't help but giggle, basking in the glowing before a more pointed “Ahem!” sobered me.</p><p> </p><p>“If you are quite finished, we can get down to business.” That thickly accented voice could only belong to Cassandra. I could never place whether it was more Russian or Germanic. I was betting on Russian though, it had that certain throatiness to it. “Leliana has informed us that you have offered to join the Inquisition. She has also informed us that you have an explanation for your appearance near a Rift that, according to our sources, was independent of the Breach. We would be <em>delighted</em> to hear it.”</p><p> </p><p>Wow, you could practically hear the eye-roll she wanted to do on that word; as it was her tone was so sardonic, I was surprised she didn't punctuate it with her blade at my throat. With how her gauntleted hand caressed the hilt at her waist, she very much wanted to.</p><p> </p><p>I cleared my throat nervously, “Yes. It is my sincerest wish to offer whatever talents or information I have to the Inquisition, provided that it does not harm the people in it, nor the rest of Thedas.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, 'information'? Do you know who caused the Breach? Or who killed the Divine?” That came from Cullen, and oh, boy…his voice rivaled Varric's. It was smooth and rich like salted caramel. Damn my aural kink. I couldn't help but fidget with my fingers, keeping my head down submissively, trying with everything I had to make myself seem like less of a threat. These people were not gonna like this truth bomb...especially the other wolf in the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. However, as much as this seems contradictory...I know things, but I can only tell you them at the right time.”</p><p> </p><p>“You will tell us everything you know! And you will tell it <em>now!”</em> Ah, there was the blade at my throat. I had to fight not to phase. I could feel the fur bristling and my teeth were already elongating. I looked at her, knowing she saw the change in my eye color as while her snarl deepened on her face, her eyes showed her surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“Cassandra, I swear I'm on your side, but if you don't put that away, I'm not gonna be responsible for phasing before y'all are ready to see it!”</p><p> </p><p>Leliana came to the rescue, coming in front of me and calmly pushing the blade away from my thumping jugular. “You forget, I have already talked with her, Cassandra. She has not shown dishonesty at anytime during our discussion. Do you believe I would so easily fall for an enemy spy? At least hear her out before you cast your judgment.” She looked past the warrior to the rest, “As I would ask of you all, to listen before you speak.” She turned to me and nodded at me to continue. Well. Was not expecting such ringing endorsement. Probably wanted to give me enough rope to hang myself with.</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Well, as I was saying. I do know things. How I know these things...you are probably not going to like, but it's the only reason I have and since I apparently came from a Rift...it makes a bit of sense.”</p><p> </p><p>Looking at Varric one last time before I caught everyone up to speed, he gave me an encouraging smile. I sighed and started, bringing my gaze to rest on the stone wall behind everyone, “Where I come from, Thedas and the people in it, are simply stories. We have no magic, no Fade. No elves, dwarves or Qunari either. Just myths and legends of them. My world relies on technology to do things, some for specialized purposes, some for everyday things. The stories involving Thedas and its peoples use a type of that technology to...experience them from the perspective of the protagonist. We only have three stories of Thedas so far. The tales of both the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, and now the most recent of them...the Tale of the Inquisition.”</p><p> </p><p>“If that were true, that would be utterly fascinating...however what proof do you have of such tales?”</p><p> </p><p>Jesus, the voice from that egg...I shivered at that tone. It rolled over me like a creek, soothing and deep. But the edge buried there didn't escape my notice either. I couldn't look at him even as I addressed him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well Solas, the companions of the protagonists were very...well known. For example, does the name Felassan ring any bells for you?”</p><p> </p><p>He turned so still I would've swore he was stone. His eyes, though, held such a storm I knew I was gonna have to be even quicker on damage control with him than I had planned to be. “It might, yes.” So quiet. Deadly, even. Shit.</p><p> </p><p>Putting aside that panic attack waiting to happen for the moment, I turned to Lavellan, “I know what clan you hail from, and I know that Keeper Deshanna chose her First well. The challenges that will come will be nigh insurmountable. But you will surpass them. With the help of the Inquisition and all its peoples, you will succeed. But I have to ask...have they settled near Wycome yet?”</p><p> </p><p>Her vallaslin was the only thing giving her face any color, shocked as she was. She hid it well though, she had excellent self-control and poise. It would do her well among the throngs of nobility she would have to rub elbows with in the future. “Yes they have...how..?”</p><p> </p><p>“I lived the Herald's time in the Inquisition. Part of the stories I mentioned, involves choosing the race and class our protagonist is, essentially choosing which Herald survives the Conclave. In the story I mean, not in real life,” I had to inject that in there as she looked at me aghast, “one of the choices is the First of Clan Lavellan. His or her clan settles near Wycome and are set upon by bandits. My sincerest advice is to send Leliana's spies. If you ask Josephine to petition the Duke, help comes too late and most if not all your clan will die. If you send Cullen's soldiers, you will defeat most of the bandits, but you will miss the underlying conspiracy. Leliana's spies are able to distract the 'bandits' enough for your clan to escape while also digging deeper and finding out they are actually mercenaries, bought and paid for by the Duke of Wycome. The letter in the story came from an agent known as Jester, and they recommend to not trust Duke Antoine, that he is a friend of the Inquisition in public but behind closed doors is another matter. For the sake of your clan, I beseech you, use the spies. Beyond saving your clan, it will have the added bonus of being a test. If what I've said comes to pass, it will prove that what I say has truth to it. It will also show my intentions of what to do with this knowledge. I only wish to help, Mistress Lavellan.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence in that room was deafening. Lavellan stared at me, searching my eyes most likely, and I kept eye contact, even though it shook me up inside. I wanted her to know I spoke the truth. I wanted her to know I would not back down, not when it came to other people's lives. Finally she nodded, seeming to have found what she was looking for, as a small smile made its way on her pale face and her eyes showed how worried she was. “Thank you, for the information. The letter came just this morning about my clan. The only way you would've known anything about it, would be if you were complicit, which you would not have said anything if you were. Beyond that, you've been unconscious since we saw you near the red Rift. We will see if your theory holds water. Leliana,” the elf turned to the bard, “if we can spare them, would you please send a contingent of your best to aid my clan? I would be in your debt, truly.” Damn, she was so <em>nice</em>! I think I'm gonna like this Herald.</p><p> </p><p>“I still say troops would be the better option, my Lady. We cannot simply take the word of an unknown party, especially one who brings what could be highly advanced forms of weaponry!” Cullen's words confused me, until I saw the large shadow in the middle of the map. A gasp blew out of me when I saw my backpack. “Holy shit, that came through with me too?” A step forward brought multiple things. The sounds of swords scraping against scabbards as they were unsheathed, the whoosh of wooden staffs and the crackle of both electricity and flame, and the exclamations of multiple people telling me to 'not move another step.' But most importantly, it brought Varric's strong hand gripping my arm to hold me back. The rush of serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine that trickled through my body had me instantly relaxing, even with the now guarded and potentially hostile would-be threats in the room. That could prove problematic in the future but I was a bit too touch-starved to give a rat's ass at the moment. As it was, the strangeness of being touched was the only thing keeping my head clear enough to think properly.</p><p> </p><p>“There aren't any weapons in there, I swear. If you let me, I can show you. Provided everything in there still works.”</p><p> </p><p>“And do we have any guarantee, that these objects cannot be used as weapons? That you could grab them, bolt, and do untold damage?” The accusation of course came from Cassandra. I couldn't help but laugh, albeit nervously, “Says the warrior princess who's hand has been damn near glued to her sword this whole time? Let me see, two battle ready soldiers, two mages who could freeze me in place, burn me alive, or electrocute me with a mere thought, and two rogues who could take me out both at long range or slice and dice my doughy ass before I could blink. One of which who is in the perfect position to slide a knife in many places for a damn near instant kill. Pull the other leg, Xena, it's feeling left out.”</p><p> </p><p>Lavellan looked at Cassandra with a deceptively casual smile. “She does have a point, Cassandra. She looks more of a milk-fed noble's daughter, either way. Horrendously out numbered and out matched. We'd be using her as a rather macabre wall decoration in seconds.”</p><p> </p><p>Even though I knew it was a ploy to show my hand, so to speak, it seemed logical to play into it. They'd find out about my condition before the end of this meeting anyway, and it would pretty much be the equivalent of disarming myself as much as I could for them. Also, while it had been a little over eight years since I've fought anyone with any degree of life-or-death stakes, my pride was stinging a bit at her insinuation. “Oh, I'd last a bit longer than seconds, love. If I were really trying, I'd probably be able to at least rip your throat out, dart under the table, slice through Cullen's hamstrings, and blow out Solas' knee, all while likely have at least one dagger or arrow stuck in me. Then I would keep Cassandra at a distance by jumping on the table, grabbing the bag, and making a sloppy leap towards Leliana, blood loss having caught up to me, and would fall promptly on her dagger.”</p><p> </p><p>I didn't miss how their gazes on me sharpened even further, even as I remained in a stare-off with the elf, nor did I miss the mix of impressed skepticism and curiosity in her gaze. I smirked, “I may not have had much need to fight for my life for a couple years shy of a decade but… one doesn't forget the skills and knowledge they've learned for survival. Especially with my condition, but as I've not made any move towards any such actions, I can only hope that my honesty will convince you, with time, that I am a friend to all of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, messere, you have stated as much already. Perhaps in the interest of honesty and friendship, you will enlighten all of us on your 'condition'?” Leave it to Leliana to seize on that tidbit. Nodding thankfully at her – it was always easier to talk about it in answer to someone than just springing it up on them. I turned to address the group of curios and suspicious stares. “As your spymaster has asked, I do have a condition that I was born with. It's since been altered through testing and experimentation by the scientists of my world. It was not pleasant, to say the least. Keep in mind that in my world we do not have magic, merely parlor tricks. Any genetic mutations leading to any sort of kinetic abilities are outliers, not the norm and are simply that: mutations in our blood. Hell, it's even denied those people even exist which is the highest form of government propagandist bull-”</p><p> </p><p>“Get on with it!” Apparently Cassandra was to be heckler this evening. Ah well, at least it got me away from rambling again.</p><p> </p><p>“Right.” I sighed, keeping my eyes on Lavellan. I could feel myself hunching my shoulders and wringing my hands nervously. “How familiar are you with the concept of werewolves?”</p><p> </p><p>You could hear a pin drop the silence in that room was absolute. In fact, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Josephine's quill drop from her fingers and heard it tick against the stone floor. Then the roar of outrage nearly drowned me.</p><p> </p><p>“Impossible!”</p><p> </p><p>“Herald, away from this madwoman!”</p><p> </p><p>“Guards! Chain her!”</p><p> </p><p>I cringed away from their reactions, back into Varric. I could feel myself hyperventilating at the sight of Cullen's and Cassandra's swords as they came closer...glinting menacingly in the candlelight, almost exactly like Doctor Berraul's scalpel. I could feel my knees going weak, could hear that bastard hissing in my ear, <em>'Who's my good puppy?'</em></p><p> </p><p>I whined and whimpered, watching the wood of the War Table twist into gleaming and sterilized metal, seeing back-lit x-rays on the wall where a frayed tapestry used to be, the organs in jars, the stink of antiseptic and formaldehyde…</p><p> </p><p>“Hold it!”</p><p> </p><p>The shout seemed to freeze time. Everyone froze. Likely from the fact that the shout came from the one man who only spoke once since coming into the War Room.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you people out of your sodding minds?! She hasn't made one move against you and you're gonna skewer her before she has all her cards on the table? Hell, she's showing you her whole hand as it is! Just give her a chance!”</p><p> </p><p>My hero. The sheer amount of vitriolic disappointment rolling from Varric was enough to quell even the most belligerent of assholes. Sheesh, it wasn't even pointed at me and I felt like I'd gotten caught kicking a baby or something. If I wasn't already ass over tin cups for him, I was well on my way.</p><p> </p><p>“There will be no skewering if I have anything to say about it, Varric. My clan has heard of our kin in the Brecilian Forest, and what happened during the Blight. That she is no slavering, mindless beast is quite obvious. What is also obvious, is that werewolves of her world differ from ours, if what she says is true. It would explain the howl she could produce when we found her, as well.” The voice of reason came from the Herald. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at her, as she continued, “Though some proof would of course be <em>appreciated</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Read 'goddamn necessary', if the piercing look in her eye said anything. The rest of them were silent but it certainly was not without protest. Cassandra looked at me like I'd both vomited on her boots while proclaiming that Divine Justinia was a whore of no virtue; Cullen looked at the Herald like she'd sprouted a second head and turned purple with yellow polka dots. Josephine had subtly moved closer to Leliana, the ashen tone she'd taken at odds with her normal bronzed hue, while the bard she all but clung to was as cool a cucumber. Solas...I didn't like how he looked at me. Like a cadaver he couldn't wait to dissect. Like how the Doctors looked at me in The Labs. I hated it.</p><p> </p><p>Focusing on Varric, whose gaze was the only friendly one in the room, his hand squeezing my arm so tenderly, I pretended I was just showing him. That there was no Cullen or Cassandra or Solas or Lavellan. No Bianca. Just him and me. I could feel myself phasing, melting to that familiar form that felt as natural as naked skin near instantaneously. Watching his eyes widen in shock and awe as I could feel the stone beneath four paws made my tail wag behind me. I stepped closer to him and nosed his hand until I could feel his fingers dazedly scritching the one spot behind my right ear I could never seem to scratch. A groan escaped my throat, lupine gold eyes closing in bliss as I leaned into that gloriously masculine hand, my tail sweeping the floor back and forth happily as I wallowed in the scent of parchment and leather on his hand, tinted with a hint of oil that smelled like what crossbow Bianca had on her.</p><p> </p><p>I almost missed the sweetly cooed comment behind me, “Aww. She's absolutely <em>adorable!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Well, that wasn't what I expected much at all.</p>
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